Kay McKenzie Cooke is a good friend and someone who I think of as embodying the writing life because she is constantly and carefully converting lived experience into written art. She has published four collections of poetry (Feeding the Dogs, Made for Weather, Born to a Red Headed Woman, and Upturned), three novels (Craggan Dhu: Time Will Tell, I, Said the Lark, and Quick Blue Fire) and has been blogging steadily since the early 2000’s. Recently, she even started a substack. She and her fellow Ōtepoti/Dunedin writer Jenny Powell have shared their enthusiasm and talent with people throughout the South Island, periodically going on reading tours together.
I’ve interviewed Kay a couple of times before: once about making the switch from poetry to prose, and again when her first novel Craggan Dhu: Time Will Tell was published. Hearing that something new was in the works, I thought it was a good time to catch up.
- You’ve hinted that your newest project is to do with family history. Can you describe what you’ve got planned?
You are right, Katherine, in your interpretation of my hints, I am indeed planning for the memoir I’m writing to include a bit of family history. However, the focus will mostly be my own story (autobiography).
The motivation for this comes from a daughter-in-law at the beginning of this year, who urged me to write my story for the descendants (grandchildren, great-grandchildren). Straight off, the idea of doing this felt both sobering and daunting.
Being asked at the beginning of a year seemed slightly auspicious—as if it could be a New Yearʼs resolution.
“But itʼs all in my poetry,” I countered. However, going by the response to this argument, apparently not everyone likes or relates to poetry. A straight, narrative, factual recounting of my memories and experiences was what was requested.
As to its scope and length, I would like to keep it fairly contained. An epic is not the aim! With regards to form; I’m thinking fairly fluid so as to leave room for flash fiction and poems. (Maybe even illustrations? We’ll see.) Iʼd like to think it will flow, with a bright, humorous and varied feel, but for the sake of authenticity, with some inevitable sadness.
2) Your poetry is often grounded in family scenes and stories (Born to a Red-Headed Woman, for example, is named for a poem about your mother and I remember a great poem where you compare your teen son’s legs to punga trees). The Craggan Dhu trilogy was influenced by your own family research and memories. Is this confluence between genealogy and writing something you’ve had in the back of your mind for a while?
I think the answer to this question would have to be, yes, always. It’s always been at the back of my mind. My writing relies a lot on my genealogical background.
My first poetry collection Feeding the Dogs used this aspect for inspiration and everything that has followed, poetry, novels, short stories, has not veered far from this (for me) rich vein.
I was just saying recently that the fact of my European ancestors making the long journey from Scotland, Ireland, England—whether on their own, or as a family group—is ever-present in my psyche. Yes, they were part of the currently unpopular idea of colonisation, but (apart from one of them, perhaps) the sense of them having been pushed to emigrate through straitened circumstances is surely behind their move to Aotearoa. The bravery it took to leave, uproot family and launch into a risky unknown, always tugs at my heart. Put in today’s context, they were refugees.
3) You mentioned to me that this will be aimed at family rather than for any commercial or high-literary purpose. Does this change the way you approach the writing?
Yes the book will be aimed for family consumption rather than commercial.
It’s really freeing not having to aim for a certain genre, style, popularity, market. Etc. etc.… But at the same time, I notice my inner critic and editor hasn’t let up. Sloppy (or soppy?) writing is not acceptable.
4) You have both Pāhēka Scottish and Māori ancestry, a rich combination common to many New Zealanders. You’ve explored the history and interplay of the two strands in the subplot of I, Said the Lark. How would you say these two disparate cultural influences have shaped your family in particular?
A lot of my wider family don’t really give their heritage much thought. They tend to be prosaic, down to earth types not given to deep-wave thoughts about what we’ve inherited from the ancestors.
However, there has always been a (small) portion of the extended family who do think about the different patterns and influences inherited from the ancestors. We tend to seek each other out and when we do find ourselves together, lively discussions about the family tree ensue. I also draw a lot from my late Aunty Lorna’s vast library of stories, photographs, family tree records and all the discussions I had with her about family history.
Some of the next generation have joined this particular proclivity for genealogical history, and are taking it to an even deeper level as far as our Māori background is concerned. This interest corresponds of course with the revival of Te Reo, Tikanga, and Te Ao (Māori language, customs and identity) which is gathering strength in Aotearoa New Zealand.
Having the younger ones lead the way to a deeper knowledge and connection is rather humbling. One of my nieces gets very close to being bossy about getting us on board and involved—which, don’t get me wrong, is great. It’s what we need.
Because they are non-threatening, I’ve noticed that without even trying, the next generation down (the mokopuna / grandchildren) are rapidly changing the viewpoints of any stuck-in-the-mud grandparents. That generation (the fourth down from my grandparents) don’t even have to try—through family and education, they’re experiencing an environment where the Māori way of doing things is now pretty much considered a natural choice. The grandparents realise they have to catch up!
5) Your writing consistently plays on a sense of connection between people and their place. Tangata whenua is a concept that can be literally translated as “people of the land” but encompasses the idea that your homeland, your ancestors’ land, is a vital, even a dynamic, part of you. How would you characterize this special relationship to place and is it connected to family for you?
Tangata whenua (or in Southern dialect takata whenua) is something my generation is more aware of than we were in the past. My mother’s generation didn’t really think about it—until, like all other Kai Tahu Māori of retirement age, my mother started getting her yearly handout from the iwi (tribe). After that she was very proud to be takata whenua! When we used to get a share of tītī/mutton birds back when Granddad was alive, this was seen as another indicator that we were Māori. How our Granddad looked—definitely Māori—was another indicator. But he was a Māori who didn’t speak the language, or follow Māori customs. He was a brown-skinned Māori with a load of fair-skinned grandchildren, who never considered that by dint of ancestry and blood, were also Māori! It was just Granddad who was the Māori. The realisation that we were too, didn’t arrive until the late ’70’s when the Waitangi Treaty was being re-visited and land issues were being challenged.
My mother and her sisters clung to the one tendril of tribal affiliation; the ‘number in the Blue Book’, where they were registered as being descended from Motoitoi. But like those of her generation who hadn’t been brought up to embrace the Māori part of her background, a vacuum existed where there was once, three generations back, a Māori world.
Any affiliation to the land that I feel as takata whenua, is most definitely connected to this rather fractured Māori ancestry. I am only now learning the stories of the southernmost part of Aotearoa—the land I associate most deeply with; my turakawaewae, the place where I stand— from a Māori perspective.
6) What types of research are you doing (eg visiting websites, using genealogical sites, chats)?
I haven’t had to do much along research lines for this memoir, so far. I have a huge amount of family history filed away in a very full filing cabinet. This is thanks to others who have delved into family history, on both my parent’s sides. I am indebted to these people—some of them gone now.
For my own personal slant, I’ve hauled out diaries I kept through the ’70’s and 80’s on into the early ’90’s. They’ve been kinda helpful, but not as much as I thought they’d be. Accounts of the weather on that day and what stage the kids were at that time of writing, or who was coming to dinner that day; do not make for riveting reading. I was shocked at how many times we had people over for meals, or were invited to meals ourselves. Hardly ever happens now! My old blog posts (I’ve been blogging since early 2000’s) have been useful. Letters have been another source—but once again, very mundane and amusing in a lame way, but certainly not in an interesting way. Was I really that person? Do I really want others to know I once was that zealous? That narrow minded?
7) What will be your ‘historiographic’approach? Will you aim for ‘The Truth’ or versions of the truth? I know some family histories can spark off heated debates about whether someone’s point of view was reliable or not. And written records occasionally obscure more than they clarify. I think you said it will even include micro-fiction, which suggests that there is a sense of freedom and experimentation—room for imaginative play—there.
I will aim for the truth. The truth of what I choose to reveal anyway. Some things I will let lie where they fell. I didn’t realise until I started writing an out-and-out, straightforward memoir, how gruelling it is. How it tests your mettle. Bashing out a poem is no sweat in comparison. With an account that aims to give it straight, there’s no hiding behind pretty language.
Of course what I remember may differ from others, which is accepted when it comes to memoirs anyway, isn’t it?
Any micro-fiction I’ve written (or will write) tends to be heavily weighted by real events, so if included, any fictive element will be very see-through. (Diaphanous Fiction—have I just uncovered another genre? [love it! ed.]) In case of these pieces, there will be full disclosure that they may contain fiction.
I will tread lightly in any areas where strong opinions on what actually happened vary. However, having no direct relatives left from the generation above me may help there! No-one left to correct me.
8) You have a penchant for mysteries (which I share!). I, Said the Lark, for example was a great yarn along the lines of Christie’s The Moving Finger. It occurs to me that a family history can also be viewed through the “mystery lens”. Is there anything that you are particularly curious about or that has struck you as an intriguing trail to follow?
I do have a penchant for mysteries.
In my family, for the last thirty years, there’s been the mystery (and division of belief) of the two John Lees. Believing which John Lee was ‘our’ John Lee has exercised many in my extended family. That will be addressed, for sure. There is also the fact of cousins marrying and wicked step fathers and rumours of one of our ancestors having a mistress.
But as you rightly pointed out, some of these family mysteries have been alluded to in my novels. I may be brave enough to touch down on them again. Or, I may just keep them as fictional allusions. If family are curious, I’ll tell them to read my books (although to be fair, those that have read my books are somewhat confused as to what is real and what is imagined? I appreciate this confusion but am largely unapologetic.
So yes, you are right, there is a lot of material where the mystery lens can be applied. However, I’m thinking I’ll largely steer clear.
9) Do you have any models for how you’d like the book to look? And have you read any good autobiographies?
I can’t think of a model. A friend recommended Fay Weldon’s autobiography Auto da Fay for its style. I have yet to read it.
If I do have an idea of how my book will look, it’s that even though it’s chronological, I’d like it to have an organic feel. I think the trick might be to hide any formal lines under a cover of fluidity.
I’m thinking patchwork—corresponding poems added in to break up any long narrative parts, small pieces that feel like flash fiction for points of interest and humour. But keeping it chronological.
As far as favourite autobiographies go, I am not a big reader of the genre. I have a feeling that nothing will ever surpass Janet Frame’s An Angel at my Table. Talia Marshall’s Whaea Blue is another stunning autobiography. John Dolan’s Pleasant Hell is hugely entertaining. V.S. Naipaul’s Literary Occasions is a book I read some years ago now, but I remember how much I liked its style. I might refresh my memory with a re-read of that book, as well as take my friend up on her recommendation of Weldon’s book. However, I wouldn’t consider any of the books mentioned to be models so much as motivating and inspiring.
10) What are you hoping your family will take from these stories? Are you hoping to glean anything for yourself?
What I’m hoping my family will take from the memoir (should it ever get finished!):
A knowledge of where they have come from.
What life was like growing up for their mother, grandmother (and possibly, great-grandmother) sister, aunty, cousin.
A record for the descendants. My father died without leaving much in the way of photos, writing or records—maybe this memoir of mine will make up for any lack in that department for my own family.
A sense of time and its effects and influences on a girl, then a woman, who just happened to be born in the middle of the 20th-century.
A bit of a record of the ancestors, the tipuna. As the saying goes: ‘As long as your name is spoken, you live on.’
For myself:
An unsticking? A shaking off?
Some memories are painful, so maybe even a bit of healing?
Full disclosure: I have put the memoir on hold for now. I’ve found it slow going, feeling at times like I’m ploughing through layers of memories glued down hard. I have found it emotionally draining. I have found I can only write a little at a time—when writing a novel my fingers fair fly over the keyboard, but this work feels like more of a stop-start affair. I didn’t realise how much bravery and strength is involved in baring all. (John and Talia have my full admiration! )
I have found myself putting off starting some parts, distracting myself with something else, because I know writing about them will be painful. Short bursts have been the way to go, it appears. After the last thing I wrote (about the day my father died) I thought ‘That just might do for a while.’
I will get back to my memoir (working title: Living Example) but in the meantime, I’m writing poetry and even thinking of doing a bit more on the novel (working title: Yellowhammer Summer) that I started last year.
I will get back to Living Example. It hasn’t been abandoned, just told to go to sleep for a bit until I feel strong enough to tackle the memories once again.
